Flash
by Luisant
Summary: The 114th Hunger Games have begun, and District 7 isn't exactly most likely to turn out another victor. But then again, Sola Glade has never had it easy, and she won't go down without a fight...
1. Tributes

**TRIBUTES~**

-x-

District 1 (Luxury items):

Emerald Soyra [16]- Tall girl with waist-length, pitch black hair and emerald green eyes.

Wonder Kumani [13]- Short boy with bright curly red hair and brown eyes.

-x-

District 2 (Medicine):

Nari Callas [14]- Athletic-looking girl with tanned skin, long dark brown hair, and pale blue eyes.

Mutilus Irit [17]- Enormous boy with a muscular frame and short black hair, threatening dark brown eyes.

-x-

District 3 (Factories):

Violet Flen [17]- Innocent-looking girl with big blue eyes and very long wavy bronze-colored hair.

Tiberius Tucsand [18]- Menacing boy with very light-colored hair and very dark eyes.

-x-

District 4 (Fishing):

Kaia Stevens [14]- Tall girl with tanned skin, long black hair with blonde highlights, and golden-amber eyes.

Alerio Holt [15]- Muscled boy with light brown hair and lightly tanned skin, hazel eyes.

-x-

District 5 (Livestock):

Brisa Jamel [17]- Short, very skinny girl with pin-straight, sandy light brown-blonde hair and brown eyes.

Olin Petens [15]- Average-height boy with lightly tanned skin, hazel eyes, and brown hair.

-x-

District 6 (Scientists):

Laria Lumis [16]- Tall girl with blonde hair that reaches past her shoulders, silvery eyes.

Milon Usta [13]- Scrawny-looking boy with very dark eyes and hair.

-x-

District 7 (Lumber):

Sola Glade [14]- Average-height girl with shoulder-length honey brown hair and bright green eyes, slightly tanned skin.

Naman Wester [14]- Pale-skinned boy with black hair and dark grey eyes.

-x-

District 8 (Textiles):

Pax Dellus [12]- Tiny girl with short chestnut hair and light yellow-brown eyes.

Paulus Quixot [12]- Small boy with pale skin and light brown hair; blue eyes.

-x-

District 9 (Hunting):

Cyprias Ereds [13]- Short, thin girl with shoulder-length blonde hair and dark blue eyes.

Kolt Anter [14]- Tall, lean boy with ashen skin and light blue eyes, messy black hair.

-x-

District 10 (Trade and Mathematics):

Yumike Nuso [15]- Shy girl with short-cut reddish-brown hair and yellowish eyes. Bad eyesight.

Kenius Otalo [12]- Pale boy with gray eyes and messy blonde hair that hangs in his face.

-x-

District 11 (Agriculture):

Aurelia Yoru [12]- Somewhat dark-skinned girl with large blue eyes and wavy black hair.

Scythe Mafay [18]- Dark-skinned, lean boy with a buzz-cut and menacing dark green eyes.

-x-

District 12 (Coal mining):

Ceres Bruts [13]- Medium-height girl with wispy blonde hair and amber eyes.

Drusus Kettis [15]- Huge, muscled boy with dark blue-black eyes and black hair.

-x-

**AN: Obviously, this is just a list of the tributes that were chosen for the games. Don't worry, Chapter 1 will be up within a few days. Thanks for reading!**


	2. The Reaping

**One**

** S**unlight streams through my window, bathing the room in a pale glow. I peek my eyes open and stare at the watery light for a moment, and a sinking feeling of realization hits me as I remember the date. An air of misery hangs gloomily over the bright day, the tattered room I sleep in. It isn't just me who will be depressed today. The entire district will shut their doors and pray with worried faces.

It's reaping day.

With reluctance, I shuffle out of the covers. I look longingly at the table, where my normal clothes sit--baggy shorts, loose black shoes, a simple t-shirt. On a weekend day like this, I would be off working with dad. But of course, I have to look presentable today. With a grumble-sigh, I paw through the meager dresser and single out a dark green skirt. For a while I stare at it, not knowing at all where it came from. Eventually, though, I dismiss the wondering and pick out a worn long-sleeved brown shirt.

I open the door quietly and come down the creaky wooden stairs, leaving my hair down. Peeking my head around the corner, I spot my father and older sister sitting at the table quietly. My face flushes and I bite my lip. Have they been waiting for me long? I step into the room and take a spot at the table, drumming my fingers on the wood guiltily.

"Sorry." I break the long silence, silencing my fingers. My father looks up, and I notice the dark circles under his eyes, his worried frown. My eyes shift to my sister, Reden. She looks... withered. Her hands tighten around a lopsided mug and she looks away. Everything is always... painful, on reaping day. Because everyone in District 7 knows that they could be looking at someone for the last time without feeling aching sorrow.

Reden clears her throat and stands up, pulling down her sweater. She's beautiful--tall and slim, with long dark brown hair and soft blue eyes. People tell me she looks like my mother, which is probably why no one lets her lift a finger. Sometimes it's hard not to be spiteful.

"Breakfast?" She sounds tight and restrained. I look up and nod slowly. Reden disappears into the kitchen and my father shifts slightly to look at me.

"Enjoying your day off?" His voice is tough and gravelly, which suits his weathered look. He smiles at me very slightly, which confuses me a little bit. It's not a secret that he likes Reden more than me. And who wouldn't? She's perfect, after all. I grit my teeth, surprised that the small action has provoked a bit of rage.

"Yeah. You shouldn't have let me sleep, though." I reply. Reden reappears and sets down a plate with a bit of eggs and a warm slice of bread. I suddenly realize I'm starving as my stomach growls loudly. Wolfing down the bread, my eyes dart from Reden to my father and back again. Another silence falls into place as I eat noisily. When I'm finally finished, I glare at them. "What in the world is going on?"

Reden and my father share a look that I don't understand, avoiding my question. I can feel the color rising in my face again, although from anger this time.

"It's... hard to explain." Reden inputs quietly. I raise an eyebrow at her, clenching my hands.

"So? I deserve to know whatever you two are talking about!" My eyes narrow at them. There's a pause, and my father shakes his head. Why do they always do this? This isn't hardly the first time I've seen them whispering, casting me glances.

I pound my fists on the table, getting up from my chair. I try to say something, but all I feel are hot, sticky tears rolling down my cheeks. Sputtering in rage, I storm across the room and out the door, being sure to slam it behind me.

The air is sticky and humid, and it instantly clings to my skin. Normally the district would be alive with the noises of the logging machines and workers, but everyone gets the day of the reaping off. Sinking down to ground, I bury my head in my knees and cry a bit longer. Why the hell did mom have to die? I recall the long days in my mind, letting the old wounds open. Had it really been two years? It seems much, much fresher.

I was only 12 years old. It was a rare sunny day, without a cloud in the sky. I remember walking with Reden and marveling at the cool breeze, clutching her hand tightly. Things were different then. I didn't loathe her as much. My mother kept the family together, laughing and smiling, making sure we were always happy. Something about her made cynicism and anger just float away.

I remember someone shaking my shoulder roughly. It was my father--his face looks so different in my memories, not yet marred by depression and regret. Looking up at his face, streaked with tears, I asked what was wrong.

My mother was sick. Very sick. The simple remedies of the town's apothecary workers didn't make a difference at all. She would die, slowly and surely.

Reden and I went to see her a few times. Mostly I recall fleeing the room in tears at the sight of her. She was so... frail. But worse than that. With one look you could tell how bad it was. She would look up at us with sunken eyes, hug us weakly with bony limbs.

One day, my father came to pick me up at school. He looked agonized, refusing to talk to me as we walked. Finally he turned around, sinking to his knees, and wept. I had never seen someone cry like that. Crying is one thing, but weeping takes a persons entire soul. My father met my eyes after a while and said just two words.

"She's gone."

My life changed then. I became someone that... I wasn't. I started going to work with my father whenever I could. Becoming strong, roughened, might have been the best medicine for the grief. Shoving the emotions down worked... for a while. Then on my 13th birthday, a huge argument burst out. There was screaming and accusations--I can't even remember what it was about now. From then on, Reden and I lived separately. I don't feel any longing to be comforted by her anymore.

I force myself back into the present, because today isn't nearly as bad as then. Who cares if I get reaped? Dying quickly might be better, might save me all this frustration. I wipe my face on the sleeve of my shirt, hating myself for being so soft.

"Hiya." A hand on my shoulder startles me for a moment until I recognize the person.

"Hey, Naman." I say, trying to keep the snuffle out of my voice. It's painfully obvious, of course. I'm sure there are huge tear tracks staining my face.

Naman has been my friend for as long as I can remember. We weren't as close, though, until my mom passed away. Just a person that was there. But I guess we got to know each other more.

"Alright?" He asks quietly, brows furrowed in concern. I nod, running my hands through my hair in an effort to diminish the last of the emotion.

"Yeah. Fine." I say in a clipped voice. Naman probably knows what's going on, but he knows me well enough not to breach the subject.

"You look pretty." He compliments with a small grin. I shoot him a warning glance, but I laugh a little bit. I must look like a dead bat.

The spurt of giggles quickly turns into a cough, followed by a long and awkward pause. Eventually, Naman stands up, brushing off his pants. "I'll see you at two, kay?"

"Okay." I reply quietly. My eyes follow his head as he walks away.

-x-

The camera crews have arrived, perching like birds on rooftops and through the crowd. Most of the District has come, too, looking around with tense stares. The stiffness in the atmosphere is almost more than I can take. In my spot near the front of the line, with the other 14 year old girls, I can see almost everything.

It's almost two o'clock, and most everyone is gathered in the square. The stage has been set up, and old wooden thing that smells like must and rain. Two simple tables have been arranged, and on each sits a glass ball filled with small strips of paper. Each one has a name written on it of someone in the roped off sections. I can feel my palms beading with sweat as I look squarely at the right ball, with the girls' names. Since I entered in for tesserae, my name has been put in eight times.

I have to force myself to calm down. There are literally thousands of other slips in the ball--my family is richer than most, actually, although the shop owner's kids have better odds than me. Not being able to help myself, I stand on tip-toe to look at the other kids in line. Reden is with the other 16 year olds, probably. My eyebrows twitch in annoyance--my father insisted that she not request any tesserae. Six slips for Reden. My head snaps up at the sharp sound of electrical interference. My eyes avert towards the stage.

Spella Bauble, the perky dark blue-haired woman from the Capitol who draws the tributes for District 7, adjusts the microphone. You can tell that she wishes she was in a better district, one with eager careers just waiting to volunteer. Tapping the mic a few times, she speaks.

"Hello, District 7!" Spella chirps, excited. Ugh. She has a silly Capitol accent—high-pitched, clipped and tight, and always raised in the end as if in questioning. It's unbearable. No one in the audience says anything. Spella frowns--it's almost as if she is expecting applause, and now looks slightly miffed now that she hasn't received it.

She introduces Mr. Sest, the mayor, and he makes the required speech about the Games—how, after the districts' rebellion years ago, each District must now send two tributes to compete in the Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV. Mayor Sest is a short, balding man with a stutter, so the speech doesn't sound as menacing as its prospects. The crowd shuffles in anticipation through the lecture. Then the anthem plays, and I can almost feel that tension ripple through the crowd again, twice as strong. In a few short moments, we will know who is safe, and who is not. I wipe my palms on the side of my pants, trying to extinguish the clammy sweat.

Spella claps, smiling brightly, and takes the microphone from him. Mayor Sest sits back down, and he looks petrified—worried for his son, probably. I avoid looking at him. Actually, I avoid looking at anyone, or anything, except for the clear blue sky.

"Ladies first!" Spella says with a grin, plunging her bony hand into the large glass ball full of names. She takes her time, rustling through all of them, and draws out one slip of paper. The prolongation of the moment leaves the entire crowd leaning forward slightly, silent.

I shut my eyes tight and inhale a shallow breath. Could this be my last true free breath? The thought sends a chill running up my spine. Suddenly, I feel terrible. About storming out on my family, about being a jerk. I chew on the inside of my mouth fretfully, promising myself to apologize... if I get the chance.

Spella takes a long, dramatic pause before finally unfolding the paper. I wonder vaguely if it's purposeful—a nail biting commercial break in the Capitol? If anyone cares about District 7, that is. She opens her mouth to speak.

"Sola Glade."


	3. Train Ride

**Two**

**F**or a moment, I can't breathe. My limbs feel like stone. Is... it really my name? No. No, no, no. This can't be happening. My eyes travel towards the stage, where Sessile, District 7's only living victor, looks evenly back at me. Her mismatched eyes narrow infinitesimally, her dark hair shivering in the wind. It's happening.

I feel numb. Trying to staunch the tears before they come, I clutch one of the ropes for support. The realization sinks into me slowly, like a seeping poison. Vaguely, I hear Spella say my name again. I feel like I'm underwater--everything seems slow, blurred and muffled. All eyes are on me now, curious. My stomach knots up, and I shakily make my way through the line, getting up onto the stage. I face the crowd, face frozen in shock. Eight strips! Eight in thousands! Why me?! My brain is screaming at my body.

"Any volunteers?" She says with slight seriousness, daring anyone to step up. Paired with her cheery attitude, it sounds silly. There hasn't been a volunteer since… Well, not since I have been born. And there won't be. In the richer career districts, there are volunteers basically every year. But here in District 7, the word 'tribute' is pretty much synonymous with the word 'corpse'. There's silence.

"Well, excellent then! Off you go!" Spella practically pushes me towards one of the fold up chairs near the back of the stage, which I fall into ungracefully.

The terror sinks in within a few seconds. One week. One week to live without being hunted. Without fearing for my life every waking second. Without having to face the possibility that the _last _thing I see would be another kid. Turned violent in their madness to survive. My brain slows down, and the fear scorches stronger through my veins. For a moment I want to glance into the crowd, desperate to grasp a familiar face for comfort. But instead, I glance up as Spella draws the boy's name.

"…Naman Wester."

My blood goes cold. My thoughts speed up again, into a blur of questions. In just seven days, Naman and I will be fighting for our lives. Will we have to face each other? Brutal, gory images from past Games fill my mind for a few moments. I don't think anyone ever had to kill his or her friend. Oh, the Capitol will get a kick out of this.

Naman steps onto the stage and takes his seat, ignoring Spella's greeting. I know there is no hope that someone will take his place. Spella still asks the crowd in a chipper voice. Stillness falls. Most of the people of District 7 know Naman. He's so... cheerful. Bright. I catch his father's face in the crowd--since an accident a year ago, Naman had to take his place at work whenever he could. Already, his face is contorted in pain and frustration. Because, after all, there's nothing to be done. He'll be dead soon.

I avert my eyes from them, looking at Naman beside me. I know almost instantly this is a poor substitute, so I glare at one of the cameramen nearby. Right... everything I do from now on will decide on how long I'll last in the arena. Will there be potential sponsors watching this? I continue the harmful look for a while, then turn my head away indifferently. _Good_, I think to myself. _Don't let them think you're not a force to be reckoned with._

Mayor Sest says a few words to close the reaping. Panem's anthem plays again, and Naman and I shake hands. There's some small look passed between us—pity for each other, I think—and then we are escorted off stage by a few peacekeepers. Every step I take is like a huge effort--It feels like trying to pull along a heavy rock. My legs just don't want to walk.

The peacekeepers guide us to the Justice building and leave us in separate, small rooms to wait. Tributes are allowed a final hour-long visit with their loved ones before the train departs. I stare bitterly down at the soft beige carpet, the velvet couch, hating the Games. Hating the Capitol. For a second I'm almost surprised at how quickly the sadness and fear melted away into this rage.

A few minutes tick by. The doors open suddenly, and before I know it my father is there, and Reden. There's an uncomfortable silence--the two of them stand there and I sit. The clock on the wall makes small clicking noises. Suddenly, Reden is sobbing. She buries her head in her hands and comes over to the couch, resting her head on my shoulder.

It's a little strange, the younger sibling comforting the older. But I stroke Reden's hair soothingly because, although I hate to admit, I don't want to see her crying. She weeps for a long while, blubbering things occasionally that sound apologetic. "I know," I murmur to her. "It's alright."

After a while, I look up and notice my father, standing in the corner of the room with a pained look on his face. He stares down at the floor when he notices my gaze. I get up, leaving Reden to sit for a moment, and walk over to him. Up close, I can see the tear tracks down his dusty cheeks, the redness of his eyes. Does he really care? Even my thoughts sound dry and untrusting. We look at each other for a couple seconds and I wrap my arms around his stomach, the tears coming freely now. The emotions wash away my blank face like a river overflowing after the rain. It takes a moment for me to gather that the strange sobs come from my own throat. I wish I were strong enough to hold them back. At least, I think, they don't air this.

"I love you." This is all I can manage to say at the moment.

"Me too," he responds gruffly. We stay like this for a while, comforting each other in our own strange way. When I pull away, I feel weight on my neck. I look down, stunned, at the beautiful necklace with a silver chain and a gleaming little diamond pendant.

"Your mother's," my father tells me in a quiet voice. Smiling weakly, I dare to touch the beautiful thing. My mother. I feel oddly happy for a few moments, knowing that when I die I will have a little piece of home with me. I don't really have anything to remind me of my mother… except for now. After the exchange, I let my mind rest. I don't really want to think, just want to be with my family for a few precious minutes. We are silent for a period of a time, except for small sniffling noises. It's nice in it's own way. At least now, the conflict is resolved.

All too suddenly, it's over. The Peacekeepers escort my family out of the building. Naman appears in the room with Spella. She's saying something to him in a quick, chittery voice. He looks unhappy, grumbling something back at her. Sessile follows after them, the ruined left side of her face clearly visible. She was in the games a few years before I was born. All I've heard is that she lost her eye in her final grapple of the games when a boy from District 4 threw an axe at her face. He died shortly after that.

I think they used one of his eyes to replace hers.

Sessile grins at me in a strange way--comforting? Knowing? I'm not quite sure of the purpose of it. I don't really like her, I decide for the moment. But she, being my mentor now, will be my lifeblood during the games. So I nod in acknowledgment and try not to let anything show on my face. After all, I kind of botched my toughness with the crying. The cameras are back on me again now that we're outside, and it's easy to see my puffy, reddish eyes.

Crowds of people gather near the train as we approach it, wishing us goodbye and good luck. Even though the people surround us in masses, I feel more alone than I ever have. Naman walks close to me, and I think he can feel me shivering. He holds my hand, and I find myself pleased with this. But the feeling leaves as soon as we step onto the train. I let go, suddenly uncomfortable with the whole gesture. Naman and I are friends. Simply friends.

The train's beautiful, although I'm not pleased in admitting it. The main compartment has pristine white carpet and walls. Plush furniture is spread out, as well as a dark wood and glass table with a vase of delicate white flowers perched upon it. Compared to the rooms I spend most of my time in, this is luxury.

Spella gives us a few quick directions and shoos us off to our respective rooms. We have a few hours to get settled before dinner. With some difficulty, I walk down the narrow connector compartment and into my quarters. Another luxurious room meets my eyes. This one has dark burgundy carpet, and the same whitewashed walls. A huge, soft-looking bed sits in the corner, with a black dresser and end table beside it. What I guess is a bathroom branches off to the right. Vaguely, I wonder if they replace the furniture every year. The thought of sleeping on the bed that the dead tributes of past slept on makes my stomach flip.

I decide to explore the bathroom. It's almost as large as my room, tiled in clean white. For a while I just admire it, too fed up to deal with my stress at the Capitol. At least I get to live my final days in luxury. It isn't all that comforting though, really.

I strip down and get into the shower. Marveling at the various buttons and settings, I turn the water up until it scalds my skin. It's amazing, soothing my frayed nerves. I stand there, blank for a while, until I'm pulled back to reality. The hot water has run out after about 40 minutes, and now there are icy tendrils of water stabbing at my raw skin. Quickly, I turn the dial down and dress in a fluffy white robe. I fuss with more settings on the wall, and manage to find one that blasts my head with hot air. My hair is perfectly dried, tangle-free, hanging loose below my shoulders.

The whole thing is just… odd. Do these Capitol people do any work, with inventions like this? We have to boil water for baths back home. There are just scratchy old rags to dry us with. I just deal with the wet hair most times. Feebly, I try to imagine a life without work. I spend at least half my time in the mills and out chopping with my father.

I venture back into the main room, opening the dresser. There are at least 50 different shirts, pants, skirts, and dresses. Sighing in frustration, I select a simple long-sleeved blue shirt and a pair of very light brown pants. I put my own shoes back on and pull my hair up, since I like it better that way. Unfortunately, there's still 20 minutes until dinner. I sit on the edge of the bed and tap my fingers on the bed table, checking the sleek black clock frequently. 3:30. 3:45.

Finally, a black-haired man comes in to my room and motions toward the door. I nod at him and wind through the compartments again. There's another connector car after the compartment that we boarded onto, and then I find myself in the eating room.

It's not as nice as some of the other cars—large mahogany table covered with a simple white cloth, wooden chairs. Naman and Sessile are already seated. Spella taps her foot impatiently, looking pointedly at me. I glare at her somewhat, taking my seat. She stops, still looking a bit irked. They must've been waiting for me to eat.

As soon as I touch the chair, two more people come out of the connector car from what I infer to be the kitchen. They're dressed identically—crisp black pants and vests, white dress shirts underneath. The man who came to my door was dressed this way, too. They move around the table silently, serving us dishes.

My eyes widen in marvel at the food. Platters of succulent chunks of beef in a smooth, hearty red sauce. Dishes of thin sliced fish covered with baby peas and a creamy white liquid. Steaming plates of vegetables, and delicious-looking puddings and cakes. Tall glasses full of different drinks, which I am sure I've never had.

All thoughts of manners flee from my thoughts. I serve myself a heaping portion of each and practically shovel them into my mouth, chewing loudly. The food is so good, it seems like there won't be enough for the growling in my stomach. I glance up for a moment to find the whole table staring at me like I'm some barbarian. Which is probably what I look like at the moment. I swallow quickly.

"It's… amazing." I say in honest awe. Because it is, even though I detest the reason why it's in front of me. This wins Spella over a little, I think, because she beams at me.

"Oh, you poor thing! You must have to live off raw meat in that awful place!"

All right, that one stings a little. Reminding myself that Spella will be helping me get sponsors, I force a humble smile and make myself eat the rest of my plate in controlled bites. It's just as good.

I look at Naman across from me. He looks uncomfortable, eating a roll in small bites and sipping at something inside a mug. I reach out to grab a mug and look inside. It reminds me of the leaf tea we make sometimes at home, when we are sick. But this smells so much better, like fresh berries and mint. I drink the whole cup down thirstily.

I continue to stuff myself through the dinner, and the silent men bring out new dishes of different food to satisfy my hunger.

Spella excuses herself, scooting her chair out.

"I need to go to the front car for a moment." She says, toning down her perkiness a little. As soon as she's gone, there's an almost collective sigh of relief. Blinking in surprise, my eyes dart between Sessile and Naman, who have begun to laugh. Sessile grins at me again.

"I tell you, putting up with that ridiculous woman year after year is torture." She leans back, folding her hands across her stomach. A smile plays on the edge of my lips--perhaps Sessile and I share some things. And if I can talk with her, she can train me. Unfortunately, there's nothing to discuss. We all eat silently.

My spoon clacks down on my plate as I finish off a slice of rich, heavenly cake made of some sweet thing. It's creamy and soft, sliding down my throat pleasantly. The taste is a bit familiar... Chocolate? The expensive, bitter black chunks they sell in District 7 are nowhere near this heavenly treat. Spella has just re-entered the compartment.

"I'm full." I announce, standing up. The rest of the table has been done for a while. For some reason, this makes me blush shamefully. Like I'm some sort of greedy pig that wolfs down food at any opportunity. Spella gets up and the men set to work cleaning up the various empty platters.

We all head back to our respective rooms, parting ways at the main compartment. I don't realize how exhausted I am until I sit down on my bed. I dress in the fluffy robe again, but it feels too wrong. Instead, I pick out a pair of thick, loose pants and the t-shirt I already had on. Burrowing under the covers, I allow my brain a bit of time to wander before sleep.

The events of the day flash by in my thoughts--disconnected, like pictures flipping by. Reden crying. Naman's warm hands. Sessile, in all her mystery.

Suddenly, a though hits me. _How the hell am I supposed to survive? _My brain produces no answer, and I shake my head in disgust.

After a while of just laying there, I shut my eyes tight and refuse to let them open.

Gratefully, sleep comes quickly.


	4. The Parade

**Three**

** I **can see Naman now. In the dying sunlight, his form is clearly visible, slumped on the ground. There's someone standing over him, a cruel blade in their hand. _Her _hand.

There's a long, pained shriek from Naman as the girl plunges the sword deep into his stomach. I reach her, screaming desperate, useless pleas. A river of scarlet flows from Naman's wound. A cannon sounds. The girl turns around, blade raised again. It takes me a moment to recognize the face, contorted in rage and bloodstained as it is.

It's me.

-x-

I wake up in a cold sweat, throwing off the thick covers trapping me on the bed. I jump up, running my hands through my hair nervously. There's a quick, fast rapping on my door.

"What is it?" My voice is hoarse, like I've been screaming.

"Come on then, get dressed!" Spella says through the thick door. I groan, since her voice is the last I want to hear right now, but I do what she says. After rifling through the dresser, I find a decent yellow shirt and a pair of black pants. The dream plays through my head several times, again and again, before I can shove it out of my thoughts.

I enter the main compartment and sit down at the table. A lovely breakfast bar has been laid out—sausage, pancakes, eggs, fruit, little glasses of cold orange juice. To my extreme disappointment, however, only Spella is at the table with me. I try to keep myself from growling at her, taking a huge plate of food and shoving it down my throat hungrily. Luckily, Spella doesn't seem interested in talking to me. I take a sip of the orange juice. It's tangy and sour, but sweet too. Another gulp of the drink and it's gone.

In a few minutes, Naman and Sessile enter the room. I think they've been talking, because they're both smiling a little bit. Narrowing my eyes slightly, I take a few more bites of egg to clean my plate off. Vaguely, I wonder what it is that has made them smile, but something else catches my attention. The TV in the side of the room shows us clips from yesterday's reapings. A 13 year old boy from 1 is picked, no volunteers. Monstrous boys are drawn from 2 and 11. An innocent-looking girl from District 3 steps onto the stage wearing a bright smile. And then there's me, looking almost exactly like a deer caught in headlights. I watch my competition carefully, drumming my fingers on the table nervously.

There's nothing left to do now but wait. I prop my elbows up on the table, staring out the window as the early morning landscape passes by at 250 miles per hour. The lights of another district appear, and then fade quickly. District 1? We must be approaching the Capitol now. The thought makes my stomach twist and untwist.

For a long while, the four of us sit in silence. The sun rises in the sky, and I figure it's around noon when I see the huge mountains that ring the Capitol. The train speeds on, and I wonder a little fearfully how the sleek silver vehicle will pass through the wall of rock looming over us. I close my eyes, half expecting the train to impact against the mountain. But it slides smoothly through an opening in the side of the giant rock. For a moment, we are in complete darkness, and then the shining Capitol comes into view.

I've seen the Capitol in previous games, of course, but it's spectacular all the same. Colorful buildings tower over the city, glinting in the light. The train slows a bit, allowing a fuller view of the shops lining the walks. People on the streets have stopped to point at our train, talking to those around them. They wave excitedly at us, the newest tributes to die for their enjoyment. This must be what they do all day—wait for us to be shipped in. I grind my teeth in frustration, but I make myself stand up and smile widely, waving back to them. They all look ridiculous, with bright colored hair and skin. They're so artificial and grotesque, it makes my skin crawl.

The train gradually comes to a halt, pulling into a huge building. Here, we will meet our stylists and prep team. Spella and Sessile get off of the train and exit the building, probably heading to the training center. Naman and I are then ushered to the elevator by two tall, paper-thin women. They both have bright pink dyed skin and very long green hair. We stand in the elevator in silence, and I cross my hands over my chest uncomfortably.

There's a ding, and a pleasant female voice announces we've reached the 7th floor. The doors slide open and the tall women push the ground floor button again, leaving Naman and I alone in a thin hallway. We stand there awkwardly for a few moments, until a trio of people enters, calling my name. Eyes wide, I raise my hand weakly.

The trio spots me, looking shocked. They shake their heads slightly, murmuring things to each other in quiet dissaproval. One of them, a girl with flame-red hair, motions for me to follow them. I'm guided into a whitewashed room—white tiled floor, white walls, white bath, and white beauty desk with a white chair. Colorful shampoos and other products line shelves. The three stylists stick out like sore thumbs with all their bright colors. I turn my head slightly to find that they're all looking at me. Suddenly, one of them nods, and they set to work.

-x-

I have to admit; the team is _fast_. They strip me down and set to work peeling and waxing, getting every last hair off my arms and legs as quickly as possible.

"Ow!" I smack one of their hands away as they finish my left leg with an audible ripping noise.

"Sorry!" One of them pipes in their silly accent, annoyed. I think his name is Clarus, or something like that. His tight gold curls bounce slightly as he moves away. The team looks at me broodingly—I probably haven't been the nicest person they've had to deal with. Putting on my best smile, I try to win them over. It worked fairly well with Spella, after all.

"I'm sorry. I've just… never been able to look this nice before. I'm not used to it all."

That did the trick. The Clarus and the two girls, Tonia and Kateria, nod their heads and comfort me with "You poor thing!" and "Oh, don't worry!". I allow myself a small sigh of relief. It's not worth it to have these strangle people dislike me. The parade will make or break how potential sponsors see me. Besides, if someone is close to you with tweezers, you don't make them angry.

The team finishes the hair-removal and then loads me into the tub, which has been filled with a viscous dark blue liquid, which smells foul. It takes some coaxing, but they eventually ease me into it. I suppose its not all that bad—first it stings, and then soothes my skin. They leave me there for a while, and all I can do is stare at the ceiling.

The costumes they put the tributes in are supposed to represent their District's primary export. District 7 makes lumber and other wood products. I can't remember a year where our tributes haven't been paraded around in thick tree suits. They're always terrible, never attracting much like from the Capitol audience. The newer stylists usually get stuck with us, one of the least desirable districts. Usually, all they do is complain during interviews--about how boring it is not to have any fan base to work off of. I find myself dreading my meeting with the surely shallow man or woman.

Returning, the prep team pulls me out of the bath, beaming cheekily at their 'fabulous work'. They hug each other and squeal excitedly, then exit the room. I blink a few times, standing there naked in an empty, unfamiliar room. Where did they go? Searching around, I find a thin robe and pull it on.

There's a few minute gap before my stylist arrives.

She's positively beautiful, with long, flowing silver hair and ice blue eyes. Her skin is its normal pale color, and she's dressed in simple black pants and a shimmering silver top. Her looks are accented with just a bit of makeup, and I catch a silver tattoo on her hand. But... that's it. I'm so grateful for her normal appearance, I sigh deeply.

"Oh thank god." I can't help the comment. She smiles at me, vaguely amused.

"Hello, Sola." Her voice is serene and somewhat calming. "I'm Kai, your stylist."

There's a long pause. I'm not quite sure what to respond with. "Are you hungry?" She opens a door on the far side of the room, beckoning me forward.

We walk down the hallway further until we reach a huge, open room. A ring of windows cuts the wall in half, giving away a beautiful view of the sun setting over the Capitol. A few hours must have gone by. I can't help wishing for _my_ sunset, resting peacefully on the hills of District 7, outlined in warm hues against the thick forests. Kai sits down in an over-stuffed brown chair, inviting me to take the one across from her. She pushes a little green button on a remote beside her chair, and a meal springs up onto the table. I blink at the full bowl of hot soup with noodles and chicken, vaguely comparing it to the bland stuff some of the merchants sell back home. It's pointless, because there's hardly anything _to_ compare. A small spoonful confirms that it's miles better than what I've had before.

I hate this whole place, the people here. Their stupid clothing and hair, their vulgar obsession with the games. How their food magically appears with the touch of a tiny button. If I wasn't so hungry, I might have been able to push the soup away defiantly. But food is food, and I take reluctantly small bites, even though it's delicious. I glance up to find Kai staring at me, her eyes boring holes into my forehead. There must some unspoken thought in her head, because she narrows her eyes slightly and stays silent.

"Are you new this year?" I ask suddenly. I would have recalled her plainness amongst the other dyed and stenciled stylists. She gives a small nod of her head.

"Yes." She adds, crossing her legs.

"So they stuck you with us?" I say rather rudely. It's true, of course. Most of the stylists for our District whine and moan about being assigned with us.

"Somewhat. They offered me District 6, but I turned them down." She answers. "To be honest, I'm intrigued with the challenge."

I raise my eyebrows, slurping down the remainder of my soup. "Oh really? What will is it this year?" I won't show it in front of someone like Kai, but I'm dreading this. Hopefully, she will have the common sense to put me in something that isn't entirely awful.

"I know that District 7 is lumber. Trees." Kai rests her chin on the palm of her hand, eyes narrowed. "But I don't want you to _be_ a tree. I want you to embody a tree--to be more interesting."

"Trees aren't very interesting." I grunt, un-amused. If only she knew. Kai grins.

"Oh, trust me, I'll make it work." She says.

Kai leads me back to the whitewash room, leaving the quickly darkening sky behind us. She starts with my hair, taking it out of its ponytail and adding in lighter brown and green shaded highlights, and then curling it slightly. Kai personally spends painstaking time on my makeup—painting my entire body varying shades of brown and adding delicate accents that I can't see. At some point she adds green designs, applying leafy shades to my eyelids and cheeks. I never realized that someone's hands could be so articulate, matching exactly what their mind conjures up. Kai is a true artist.

My prep team comes back in the room just as Kai finishes, carrying my dress. It's hard to put words and thoughts to match what I see. Positively stunned, I run my eyes along the dress--long and silky fabric, I assume. But it's so beautiful--neatly stenciled with leaves and spots of bark, with delicate flowers lacing along it. I can even pick out small, realistic looking birds fluttering across the fabric, lacing in between the pattern. It blends with my skin in such away that it looks totally in place, as if it is part of the design. Even I have trouble locating the hem of the dress.

I'm so enthralled by this that I actually applaud Kai. The stress, the anxiety, it must all be getting to me. But Kai smiles graciously as the prep team joins in.

It takes some work, but Kai and the team finally get the dress on to their liking. Clarus brings in a pair of simple brown shoes with small green accents—which, to my relief, are not heels of any sort. And then the four of them are stepping away, admiring their work, congratulating each other. I just sort of stand there awkwardly for a few moments until Kai takes me back into the hallway and onto the elevator. We stand in silence until the 'ding!' noise comes again. We're back on the first floor, apparently. Everything is knitting together so quickly, I can barely keep up.

We both step off, and my eyes widen at what meets my eyes. About half of the tributes have already arrived, dressed in stunning costumes, standing next to beautiful chariots pulled by colored horses. Their stylists are already fussing about them, arranging their bodies to show off their outfits. And _wow_, they all look fabulous.

Naman stands off in a corner by a brown chariot with matching horses. A tall man, his stylist, probably, talks to him with a grin on his face. He has short, spiked pumpkin-orange hair and is wearing sleek white clothing. Naman laughs nervously at one of his comments. Kai turns to me.

"I just have to speak with Vulso for a moment." She walks towards the spike-haired man and they chat for a few seconds before moving away from the chariot to speak in private.

I cautiously step up to Naman. His skin is painted very much like mine, and he dons a simple rolled up dress shirt and pants resembling my dress. We're silent for a long while, and then he turns to me suddenly.

"I hate this." He says quietly. A smile is barely visible on his face.

"Oh, come on." I mimic the Capitol accent, "We're overcoming the barbarism of our District!"

That drags a laugh out of Naman, although it's tight and somewhat artificial.

"You do look nice, though." He comments. I nod, grateful for the thick paint that covers my blush.

"At least we aren't in those suits from last year... well, we are still trees." I say with a sigh. The year previous, a different stylist had put our tributes in particularly unbecoming, bulky tree suits that looked ridiculous. Still a tree, but this is so much better in comparison.

We're quiet again after that, listening to the mulled chatter of the other tributes. More arrive gradually, and the circular room fills. Kai and Vulso come back towards us, loading us into the chariot and adjusting our body positions. My breathing has become staggered due to the increasing nervousness.

Finally, I hear an amplified voice floating in through the open doors. The District 1 tributes roll out. They're very provocative in skimpy outfits of cashmere and silk, paired with their good looks. The Capitol crowd roars—they're always popular. District 2 follows them. District 3. Soon District 5 is heading into the city streets. I take a deep breath, wiping the sweat off my palms. Luckily, the body paint does not smear.

Now a voice is announcing "District 7!" in a rather flat tone. I look back and Kai winks at me, flashing me a final thumbs up. And then our chariot jerks forward, the unnaturally tame horses pulling us out into the lighted streets. There's an initial shocked pause, and then the crowd erupts in cheers. I look up towards the huge screens seemingly floating in the sky, and I grin in excitement

In the dim light, Naman and I look almost magical. Like to whimsical people, hardly a part of this world. I'm so happy of the impression we have made that I beam gladly at the crowd, waving at the people crowding the sidewalks. Naman is surely doing the same. More, louder cheers follow the action, and I pick out my name, my real name, being chanted.

Something about the attention makes me feel… good. Wanted. There's nothing special about me. I'm not pretty, or strong, or a genius. But here, Kai has made me seem like someone who is special, which will be invaluable during the next few days. Relief replaces the anxiety, and I blow kisses to the crowd, still waving.

Too soon, we arrive at the city circle, next to the training center. I realize, slightly shocked, that I'm actually enjoying this. President Antil stands on the roof of the huge building, his voice magnified to a boom as he gives the traditional welcome speech. Traditionally, the cameras are supposed to cut to all the tributes during the speech, but we're getting a fair amount of airtime. I continue to smile, and by the time the anthem plays and the seal reappears on the huge screens, the muscles in my face are sore. Gratefully, the horses begin to move again, pulling our chariots into the doors of the training center.

Naman and I have barely gotten off when people surround us—Spella, Kai and Vulso, the prep teams, Sessile. They congratulate Kai and us enthusiastically. Apparently we dominated the parade, according to the ecstatic Spella. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sessile wink at me. Maybe she isn't all that bad, although it could be the adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I'm riding on the high of our success, so there's not much that could bring me down. I giggle enthusiastically at almost every comment, playing with the skirt of my dress.

We talk for a while, and then the stylists and prep teams leave along with Sessile and Spella. They're taking a different elevator to our floor. Stepping inside the elevator, I sigh in exhaustion. The whole day has been rather arduous, and I find myself looking forward to the soft Capitol bed. Naman is quiet, probably tired as well.

The elevator stops and Spella is standing there. She's still beaming with pride as she shows us to our rooms, which are similar to our quarters on the train. Half asleep, I crawl into the shower and watch as the paint and hair dye runs out, staining the water brown and green. I regret washing out all the beautiful work that Kai did, but I still smile when I can see my normal skin and hair in the mirror.

Stripping down, I crawl under the thick blankets in just my undergarments. I barely have time to think before blackness spreads across my vision and my body becomes heavy.


	5. Training

**Four**

** I**'m awoken again by the sound of quick raps on my door. I groan slightly, digging my way further under the covers. _If I ignore it, maybe it will go away. _My thoughts are fruitless, of course. Spella snaps at me through the door. Grumbling back at her sourly, I push away the covers. Stupid Spella. Stupid Capitol. Stupid lack of sleep. I dress simply, carefully choosing my outfit. Today is when training starts, and I want to make an impression on the other tributes. Show them that they can't count me out of these Games.

I pick out a bright scarlet shirt and a pair of simple black shorts, pulling my hair up into a high ponytail and letting my bangs fall into my eyes. Perfect, I assure myself with a smile. The girl staring back at me is confident, sure of herself. I scan her face carefully for any similarities to the broken, crying girl who said goodbye to her family. There is none, I think a thousand times.

I lace up a pair of white sneakers and greet Spella at the door. She looks over me and nods her head in almost surprised approval, beckoning me towards the dining room where a bountiful breakfast has been lain out for us. The anxiety is starting to wash away my confidence now, and I fork at my food even though I'm quite hungry. I look up and Sessile is staring at me.

"Go on then, eat. You'll need your energy." Her voice is surprisingly gruff, and I realize this is the first time I've really heard it for more than a few words. Naman, sitting next to me, nods. He's put a sizable dent in his food, but he shares my nervous look. Carefully, I swallow a bit of brownish grain. It's good, although my jaws struggle to chew it. Sessile keeps studying me, however, which makes my stomach contract slightly. I finally put my spoon down at look at her.

"What's our strategy for training?" I ask. So far, Sessile hasn't had much to mentor us on. She pauses for a while.

"Lay low. Don't try and show off." I blush when she looks at me rather accusingly. "Don't let the other tributes see what you're best at. Save it for the last day. Got it?"

Naman and I nod. The advice makes sense, but it will be so tempting. I picture the training floor—sharp new knives, long, gleaming swords… which I've used before. Sometimes when we're out chopping, a squirrel or rabbit will run by. If I can, I'll kill it. Meat is meat, after all, and food is pricey.

And they'll certainly have axes, which I've been wielding since I was six. But of course, Sessile knows what she's talking about. Spella has had the good grace to stay silent until now, but she mumbles something disapproving under her breath. Sessile looks at her for a few seconds, and Spella cringes under her hostile eyes. No one feels like eating after that, so more silent people in nice clothes take away their food. Something comes back to me now—my father telling me about them. _Be careful, Sola. If the wrong person catches you in the woods with those knives, you'll be turned into an Avox. They'll cut your tongue right out._

My appetite diminishes even faster after the memory, and I study a young girl's face as she changes the tablecloth, wondering what crime she committed to deserve this.

Sessile takes Naman and I to the elevator and pushes one of the ground floor buttons. She waves once and then we glide smoothly downward. Still, my stomach rises into my throat. The elevator makes me feel oddly trapped this morning, and I only exhale when the doors have opened again. We're in a large, carpeted room filled with equipment of all kind—spears, maces, swords, dummies, weights, knives, plus a few other things I have no name for. A burly woman comes over to us, pinning beige cloth squares onto our backs that read: '7' in thick black paint. My eyes are busy taking in the tributes all around the room.

Towards the more dangerous weapons are obviously the career pack. I pick out the strongest one almost immediately—a huge, well-muscled boy named Mutilus, I think. The other careers are gathering around him and his district partner, boasting and trying to win his attention. He glares at all of them indifferently. The girl waves them away with a smirk—even she has muscles, probably a good 50 pounds heavier than me. These two are obviously the ones to beat. There's another large boy from 12, but he's with a skinny blonde girl who I figure to be his district partner. The boy from 11 looks... frightened. I tilt my head in confusion, but my eyes are still absorbing the room.

Most of the twelve year-olds stand in the corners alone, eyes wide as they watch the careers. I glance away quickly--how can I stand to look at them, when I know they must die so that I can survive? My gaze floats around, taking in the others, until the burly woman announces that we may begin.

Remembering Sessile's words, I travel over to the spear throwing station. The instructor is kind enough, giving me pointers on my grip and arm movement. Within an hour or so, I can easily spear the dummy from ten feet, although the Career boy beside me takes one's head off from at least 25. I notice the Gamemakers wandering around, pointing at certain tributes and taking notes. I look down when one of them glances at my station. I don't really want them to see me in comparison with the Careers. Fairly happy with my spear throwing, I move on to knot tying, and then the edible plants station. I've been in the woods often enough to know most, so I've just finished when we're called to lunch a few minutes later.

The dining room is identical to the ones on our separate floors, if a little larger. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and notice that Naman is making pleasant conversation with the girl from District 3. They laugh. My cheeks burn slightly, and I decide to sit down at the other table. Not even noticing the people around me, I stab a broccoli angrily. Why should I even care? They'll be hacking away at each other in a few days. Besides, it's not like Naman and I… I quickly stop my thoughts there, because my brain should never go that far. I flinch when my shoulder gets tapped, jumping in my seat slightly. Swiveling around, I see the girl from District 4 looking at me curiously. This must be the Career pack's table. I grumble something, about to get up, when she grins at me, eyebrow raised.

No, this is not normal for the Careers. They're brutes, interested only in their own well fare. They always form a large alliance at the start of the games, dividing up most of the items in the Cornucopia after the bloodbath. They turn on each other when there's just a few players left. I study the girl carefully, vaguely recalling her at the reaping. She had a little brother, I think, about ten. She senses that I'm thinking about her, I'm pretty sure, because she speaks.

"Kaia." She holds out a hand. I shake it without hesitation, responding with my own name.

We exchange little bits of information on ourselves through lunch, although we're not the most talkative pair. She's the same age as me. Back home, she works on a fishing boat with her father. She has a cat. Kaia doesn't mention her Career training, though.

Fishing. Cats. This is probably the closest we get to conversation. I suppose it's harder to kill people you know, so neither of us breach any important subjects. The burly woman, Atalantia, enters the room again to inform us that lunch is over. The tributes file back into the training room in District order.

I visit a few more stations. Camouflage, Snare-making. I make sure to spend my sweet time at each, thoroughly learning the skills the instructors have to offer. By the end of the day, my brain is struggling to maintain all the new information.

The next day follows similarly to the first. Kaia and I keep ending up at stations together, since I'm quickly running out of non-weapon related stops. I leave one after watching her spear a dummy in the chest from at least 30 feet with a trident, the hair on the back of my neck standing up straight. Not really having a choice, I go to the sword and knife station. It's so tempting to show off, since this is one of the only things I have a bit of skill in, and especially with all the Careers around. But I let the instructor teach me things I already know. My eyes catch the blonde girl from District 3 next to me as she tears away at a dummy viciously with a hooked sword.

I flinch. Never underestimate your enemies. Slashing at the target cleanly, I ask the instructor nicely for more advice. The throwing knives are so thin and sharp; I can't help but use them. I stop when the instructor looks at me suspiciously, since all the knives have landed on target. I blush slightly, because it's sheer luck and I normally have aim that's over par. It's painfully boring trying to stay under the radar, but I waste a few hours practicing. I can't help picking up an axe, though. Throwing it towards the dummy, I find that it sticks in the belly. Good. This is what I need in the arena. Lunch follows my axe-throwing, and I grind my teeth at Naman and blonde-girl sitting together again. Kaia and I chitchat a little, although it's clear that I'm distracted. She's nice enough not to ask.

Moving on, I spend a while at the fire-starting station. After two agonizing hours, I think I've mastered how to start a fire without wood, as long as I can find flint and dry grass in the arena. I spend a while with the instructor at the bow and arrow station. Perhaps, if I can't get my hands on some knives and an axe, they could be a substitute. I notice a boy next to me, probably my age, as he shoots one of the dummies from a sizeable distance. I raise my eyebrows in approval. Hunting district? He catches my eye and winks at me, and I blush slightly. Thankfully, he's already turned around and is heading towards the spear station. Before I know it, we are dismissed to our respective floors.

The third day arrives, and I find myself constantly watching the strange boy. I visit all the weapon stations now, watching anxiously as the Career tributes outshine us all. I learn the boy's name, Kolt, when an instructor asks it. The morning passes quickly, and I find myself sitting next to him at lunch. We wolf down our food, not speaking. After a few minutes, my eyes find Kaia, who looks fairly bored with the other Careers. They're all talking and laughing loudly, excluding the rest of us. Her eyes catch mine, and hers light up hopefully. I get up to join her when Kolt finally speaks.

"Hey, where are you going?" He asks. I turn my head to look at him.

"I don't know. The other table?" I reply. He grins at me.

"Well that's kind of rude." He retorts, patting my chair. I sit back down, slightly confused.

"Do you want me to stay?" I ask, stabbing a noodle with my fork. Kolt looks at me, still grinning.

"Do _you_ want to stay? You sat back down, after all." Kolt points out. I feel the blood rising to my cheeks angrily, my eye twitching. I glare at Kolt for a while as his grin grows, and I can't help but notice that he _is _kind of attractive. Messy black hair, pale skin… I literally shake my head to clear away the thought, standing up and walking away. Kolt shrugs, looking pleased. I've met people like him before--annoying boys who poke fun to get reactions. Typical. Kaia's looking at him when I huff loudly, dropping into a chair.

"Who's that?" She asks. Grunting, I shove a strand of loose hair behind my ear, face red.

"You don't want to meet him." I assure her. Kaia looks at Kolt, leaning forward.

"Huh." She narrows her eyes but says nothing more.

I spend the remainder of the day floating around the stations, reviewing skills as best I can. Atalantia blows her whistle, signaling that the day is over. Naman and I are silent as we take the elevator back to the 12th floor. I grind my teeth, tapping my foot impatiently. My body feels tired, and I would like nothing more than to fall asleep.

The elevator dings and the doors open, revealing the hallway. I barely stay awake through dinner, some delicious meat in a thick stew. When it's over I gratefully head into my room, locking the door behind me. Stepping into the shower, I study the huge panel of buttons. There's at least a hundred. I push one experimentally and a burst of purple liquid rains down from the showerhead, coating my body in a thin slime. Disgusted, I turn the regular knob and let the warm water wash away the coating in large, gelatinous chunks. I decide not to push any more buttons, standing in the shower and watching the purple goop swirl down the drain with loud slurping noises.

Getting out, I let the hot current dry my hair and put on sleeping clothes—a fleecy white shirt and thick padded grey pants. I settle into the bed, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts flow into my mind—what am I going to show the Gamemakers tomorrow? A good score is crucial to my well fare in the arena. I'm good with knives, since I've been around them since I was ten, but am I good enough to make a decent impression? I toss and turn for a few minutes before I stand up and walk along the hall quietly. I make my way to a door and open it to a gust of sharp air.

Cautiously, I go up the staircase to find myself on the roof of the training center. Bright lights cast a faint glow upon the roof, although they must be a couple miles below us. A faint wind carries a sharp metallic scent, but I'm grateful for the air anyway. I lower myself carefully and watch over the fence as the Capitol moves below. It takes a while until I see the figure, so still as she stands in the corner overlooking the streets. Shaking slightly from the chilly wind, I rise and walk over to her. In the dim light, I recognize Sessile's ruined face. There's a long silence as we look down at the city.

"How'd training go?" Sessile asks.

"Okay." I answer softly. "What do you think I should so the Gamemakers?" Sessile pauses and sighs heavily. For the first time, I take a good look at her. There are prominent dark circles cutting holes in her pale skin.

"You seem pretty handy with those knives. Pretty scary with an axe." She answers. I snort.

"That doesn't seem like it'll impress them." I counter. Sessile shrugs.

"Honestly, Sola, you can stand to get a half-decent score. The victor last year only had a four." She grins weakly at me. "Besides, I know how to get sponsors."

The words are a bit calming, although I still want to get a high score. Maybe because of Kaia and Kolt, who, I am sure, will get 9s or 10s. I puff my cheeks in frustration and exhale slowly.

"I suppose." I mutter. Sessile shifts so that she's no longer leaning against the balcony.

"I think I know what your problem is. You're an impresser. I had a terrible boy like that a few years back." She shakes her head. "You always want to please people, even if you know it doesn't matter."

My cheeks flush, but I don't argue. She's right, however much I dislike it. I sigh, pulling down on my shirt. Sessile falls back into her normal silence, and I stare absently at the tall buildings and tiny ant-like people. It's strange, being here with a person I barely know, but the silence is not awkward. Rather comforting, actually, letting my brain rest. _Sessile's right about_ _the scores_, I think, drilling it into my head. I stand there, contemplating, until my thoughts become fuzzy. Saying a quiet goodbye to Sessile, I head back to my room. Layering on the thick covers, I allow myself comforting thoughts.

I picture Reden and my father as we sit at home. What would it have been like, that celebration dinner after the reaping? I'm sure they're all mourning me; dreading the full coverage of my possibly gruesome death. I hope they will cover their eyes. Before long I can feel the warmth of tears slipping down my cheeks, and I bury my head into my pillow and sob for a while.

-x-

The usual wake-up call greets me, Spella's impatient raps on my door. My whole body feels dense and heavy from my rooftop outing, and I groan at her to go away, only half conscious. She keeps on rapping on the door, and I finally scream at her to go away. That does it, I'm fairly sure, because I ear snappy heels clomping down the hallway angrily. _Good_, I think grouchily. I pick out new clothes—dark brown shorts and a short-sleeved white shirt, with my hair in its now-customary ponytail. Breakfast is waiting in the dining room, the usual spread with elegant glasses of juice and mugs of some sweet-smelling liquid I don't recognize. I find that I'm actually pleased when I see Kai and Vulso sitting with us as well. Naman is drinking from a mug thirstily, so I pick one up and swish it cautiously, peering inside.

"Hot chocolate." Naman tells me with a small smile. "It's good." Trusting his word, I sip down a small bit of the drink. And another. Then I tip it backwards until the entire mug is drained. It's rich and chocolaty, and I can't believe that I didn't try it before. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Spella, arms crossed. It's not really in my best interest, so I explain to the whole table that I didn't sleep very well last night due to anxiety. I catch her nod her head in understanding, although I don't think Spella has been in my particular situation. Naman sighs.

"If you think you're in trouble, you're wrong. I have no _idea _what to show them." He nibbles on his roll. I bite my lip.

"Well, you're strong. That usually wins them over from the get-go, anyway." I say. He shrugs.

"I'm not any psychical marvel like those guys from 2 and 11. Besides, there are a lot more interesting things to show." He answers. Naman took the doubt right out of my thoughts. I can't help but wish that we were like the Careers. That we had been prepared for this—fed well, trained to play up the exact angles that will win sponsors. I despise them, of course, but everyone is a monster in the Hunger Games. In two days, we'll all be like them. But now, Naman and I are just normal. Plain, average kids with nothing particularly great about them. I don't have anything to assure him with. Thankfully, Sessile intrudes on the conversation.

"Don't worry about. Just show them what you've been working on during the group days. The score honestly doesn't matter as long as you can stay alive in the arena." She says. Naman takes a long sip of his drink. Kai and Vulso smile at him reassuringly.

"Besides," Spella says, "They already love you. I can't even count how many people came up to me raving about your costumes." He seems convinced after that, although he just stares at the deep blue tablecloth absently.

I pick at my food, letting myself disconnect completely from the meal. The rare fit I had last night churns around inside my thoughts, and I don't notice that I'm biting down hard on the side of my cheek. I only stop when I taste the salty metallic tang of blood. Whoops.

Spella claps her hands suddenly, looking at her sleek silver wristwatch in worry.

"Oh! You two have to go!" She ushers us out the door hurriedly, practically shoving us into the elevator. I glimpse her dashing back down the hallway as the doors close. You have to admire Spella's ability to run around in high-heels all day. Quiet, subdued-sounding music tinkles out of an unknown source as we descend. I wonder if the elevator is moving more slowly, or if it's just my anxiety prolonging the moment. My palms begin to sweat, and I have to wipe them on my pants at least five times to keep them from getting clammy.

Eventually, we stop. The lunchroom greets my eyes, already filled with the other tributes. Naman and I end up sitting together, since the other spots are taken. This doesn't exactly please me. We both stay silent, watching as first the boy and then girl tributes are called, with about 15 minutes in between. None of them return. My eyes follow Kaia as she gets up and exits the room.

My anxiety grows until I feel a huge lump forming in my throat. The boy from five stands up as the Capitol attendant calls his name. I begin to tap my fingers quickly on the plastic tabletop. A girl from 6 goes. There's a very long pause.

The attendant opens the door and checks her clipboard.

"Naman Wester?" She asks. Naman stands up and follows her out of the room. I'm left alone with my thoughts for what seems like hours. The inside of my mouth begins to bleed again as my heart rate steadily climbs. And then my name is being called, although I don't hear it very well. The attendant leads me down the hallway and towards a plain white door. She wishes me good luck pleasantly, opening the door. I step in and then the door is closed. And I wish it wasn't—I wish I could just run out of the training center and out of the Capitol. I take in the scene before me, eyes wide.

The space resembles the group training room, with various equipment lain out. On a balcony above me, the Gamemakers sit. They're obviously distracted—after hours of watching other tributes, they're distracted. Bored. Only a few are looking at me--actually paying attention to my frozen form. Oh, perfect. Sadly, I realize that there's not a whole lot of hope for a high score. Desperately wishing the knocking in my knees would stop, I head to the weapons.

I start with the spears, managing to skewer the dummies from about 15 feet two times. Smiling to myself shakingly, I move to the bow and arrows. I'm shaking all over now, and the arrows waver from their aim. By the time I look up again, I'm discouraged and angry. Only two or three are paying attention now, a few more have reverted to conversing and looking away.

A bit of rage bubbles inside my chest, and I step over to the large array of knives and swords. My hands shake a bit more, but I'm determined, and the knives hit on target for the most part. Another glance up tells me I've regained a few pairs of eyes.

Saving the best for last, I pick up a heavy bronze axe. It feels comfortable in my hands, though. So normal. Focusing on the dummy about 30 feet away, I raise my arm and then swing it forward. _Whoosh!_ The axe soars through the air and lodges itself deep into the dummy's chest. To my great pleasure, I can hear a few murmurs of approval. I throw a few more until my arm feels like it might throw up. My eyes shoot upward at the balcony, and one of the Gamemakers stands up. She looks very official--blonde hair in a tight ponytail, a clipboard clutched in one arm.

"Thank you, Miss Glade. You may go now." I give a small, awkward bow and walk out of the room, trying to keep the slight spring out of my step. There's another attendant waiting outside the door, who smiles at me and guides me back to the elevator. I tap my foot along with the quiet music, a broad smile spreading across my face.

It's better than I would have hoped! I should have been expecting that some of the Gamemakers would be distracted. But I seemed to have attracted some interest. Perhaps a six or a seven. Plus the attention Naman and I gained during the parade, and then the interview... It could all work out in my favor.

I reach my room and spend around an hour in there, simply planning out my interview. Technically, it's the job of Spella and Sessile to prepare me, but it doesn't hurt to start early.

Late afternoon, Sessile calls me to dinner. The only major thing I've concluded is that my average score could be intentional, like I was purposefully holding back. Besides that, all I have is a growling stomach.

I twirl my fork around inside the meal—thin noodles in a heavy white cream sauce--and take gulping mouthfulls. Perhaps I shouldn't eat so much. It doesn't matter—my insides are too tied up to eat more than half of the delicious smelling food. I see Kai looking at me with concern from her spot, but she doesn't speak. No one does.

It's probably around 9 o'clock when Spella stands up, informing us that the training scores will be coming on shortly. She leads us to a large room filled with plush leather couches and armchairs, topped off with a towering TV. I end up next to Kai, who clicks on the large device.

A huge Capitol seal flashes, accompanied by the anthem of Panem. There's a short introduction by an announcer, and then the pictures appear on the screen. They're simple shots of our real faces, with our names scrolling across the top of the screen. First the boy, then the girl from each District flashes by, the score for each displayed in large black numbers. The scores are from one to twelve—one being incredibly low and twelve being impossibly high.

The girl from District 1 pulls off an impressive 9. Most of the other Careers get 10s or 9s, one an 8. The bronze-haired girl, Violet, gets a surprising 5--or, at least, based on my impression of her. Some of my anxiety is relieved at Kaia's high 9. The tributes from five and six score fairly low.

And then Naman's name is flashing. Eight! The room breaks out in applause. I shut my eyes tight, grinding my teeth in anxiety. But all I hear is more rapturous cheering from the stylists and Sessile, even Spella. I peek my eyes open a crack.

What is it? I can barely tell. I allow my eyelids to flutter away, clearing my vision. And then I see the number on the screen, and my heart stops. Ten! A ten!

Kai pats me on the back. Spella is teary with happiness. That's a Career score! The thought makes me laugh, leaving all the anger and anxiety behind. Perhaps the Gamemakers liked my axes enough for the excellent score. I think back to the high-scorers of the past. I remember one, a girl from District 5, who scored an 11. She was indifferent about it, and fought very well. I think she won. The memory strengthens my good feeling about the score, causing a smile to turn up the corners of my mouth.

I know the Capitol loves a good fighter. That's what the Games are all about, anyway. I don't go too in depth about it, since it doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is the score, _my _score, displayed for all of Panem to see.


End file.
